How to Be an Adventurer- World of Gimmok

by Damien Hanson

  ***

  The foyer was a tremendous room of stone, the walls covered in faded bas-relief scrollwork, scenes, and script. Tracy looked about in absolute fascination. He could see it in his mind’s eye, a palace that bustled with activity and young courtesans, sashaying here and giggling there. Everyone would bow, of course, when the king came in. That’s what the Grand Sorcan had taught him, at any rate.

  What you imagine is almost certainly incorrect, Tracy’s female id advised the male id in an arrogant stance. Everything here is so different and so foreign. None of us could possibly know how it was.

  His androgynous id concurred. His male id bowed to their words, though it didn’t stop him from imagining. He smiled a bit as he thought about where he would put the tents and the drum circle, were he the leader of this place.

  Carric looked about with an eager face.

  “Guys, I think I recognize this place!” he crowed in excitement.

  “What are you on about then?” Bern queried in disbelief. “This place is old, old hey, and none of us is old enough to recognize it.”

  Carric’s face dropped, and he paused before putting a shaky finger into the air.

  “I had to study a lot of things growing up, Bern Sandros. I’ve seen this style. This fort dates back at least one thousand years.”

  “You sure?” Bern asked with skepticism.

  Carric Smith’s face blossomed once more.

  “I’d bet money on it.”

  The bard walked over to the wall and began to trace some of the script and bas-relief with his fingers. The rest of them held their breath in expectation. All would have been silent had not the storm continued to thunder and wail from the outside.

  “This style, I recognize it. This room, it wasn’t just a reception. So long ago, it would have been multipurpose. It’d be cleared and used as a dining room. Or as a place to spar. This was almost surely the fort of a Goblin thrane. A warlord given land and rank for having accomplished some great deed.”

  “Gharag Heartstabber’s empire,” Bern said in awe. The others flinched a bit at the name.

  “Ya know,” Yenrab cautioned, “he listens to us mortals. So much more often than the others do.”

  Yenrab shivered, thinking back to the words of the strange and perhaps possessed rogue he had killed to get here. He warded himself with his fingers, tracing tribal sigils through the air. “Speak lightly.”

  “He can bugger off,” Bern cursed. “The damnable beast tore through this land and enslaved my ancestors.”

  Yenrab nodded. “And now you enslave his descendants.”

  Bern looked uncomfortable at that. More so when the others agreed.

  “Right. Yeah. An eye for an eye. Mate, I hear ya. I’ll speak lightly,” he reassured them, though his face remained stubborn.

  Carric’s head pivoted to the room’s exits. There were three of them, each an upside U-shaped archway that ended abruptly into a face of hard stone. It was clear that they had been sealed.

  “I suspect it is now a tomb. Has anyone seen any battle damage?” Carric questioned as he thought hard to lessons past.

  “Nothing,” Tracy spoke. The others voiced the same.

  “Yes,” Carric concurred. “These lands saw plenty of fighting, but there is nothing here smashed or broken. I don’t think this was taken and then abandoned. By the customs of the empire, if the thrane died without heir, this fort would have been closed and sealed off, the man and his wives sealed within forever.”

  Carric Smith stopped, speechless, as he realized something. The rest of them, already woven into his tale, clustered closer. Carric looked them over in a sweeping gaze and found his voice.

  “If I am right, there is treasure here. Maybe a lot of it!” the bard announced in awe.

  Chapter 12: A Treasure, You Say?

  How to be an Adventurer—The Dungeon Dive

  Delving your first dungeon can be a terrifying, and quite deadly, experience. But, remember, often the world plays into the hands of adventurers so long as they play to the tune of RESPONSIBILITY and CAUTION.

  Not everything is always as it seems, so be prepared to move slowly, to search a lot, and to always be VIGILANT.

  Also, remember, the dead aren’t always imbued with unnatural life, ready to rise up and kill you. But sometimes they are. Be especially CAREFUL of long-dead corpses and skeletal remains.

  DIPLOMACY is often the most powerful weapon in your arsenal. Scout out possible enemies, inventory their traits, and strategize the best approach available. And if the enemy cannot be talked down, prepare a KILL ZONE! Set up as many traps as you can, and then let them come. Letting the enemy wear themselves down before battle must be met is a sure way to maximize your potential to WIN!

  Perhaps, most importantly, don’t trust rogues alone in a room full of treasure. The temptation is often too great for even the most noble of their number.

  ***

  Bern Sandros scanned the room with a tactful eye. His first thoughts were of entrances to the chamber. There were the three thresholds, but those were all blocked up with slabs of rock, sealing the rest of the place away from intruders.

  “Carric, why did they seal the doors? To prevent thieves?” Bern asked with a wink.

  The others chuckled.

  Carric closed his eyes in thought.

  “Well, we know that the lord of this place, depending on what period of the Goblin empire he lived in, might well have been sealed up here within after his death, providing that he had no heirs,” Carric responded. “However, the goblins of the time also didn’t let good things go to waste. I think that they always left a way in for those in the know.”

  “Alright, Carric, this is good. An expert. I’m thinking this through. If there is a way in, well, the structure suggests to me that none of the places that these doors lead to are connected. Mate, did the Gharagians leave a key under all of the rocks?” Bern inquired.

  “What does that even mean?” Carric wondered with a confused shrug.

  “Would they have made it so they could get in every spot, or just some main spot?”

  The apprentice assassin was in his element, now, getting a feel for the place he wanted to crack open and burgle. He was excited and his body showed it, with his gestures quick and emphatic.

  “Well, Bern, from what I remember, they would have made a way to every spot in this fortress. Really, they would have made the whole process reversible, just in case they needed to use the fort again for a battle.”

  “Alright. Top kek. I suspect that those slabs are mechanical doors. So, we just have to find what grinds their gears. Any ideas on where we should look?” Bern asked.

  Carric paused and seemed to struggle a bit with it, giving it a good and proper think.

  “I cannot, Bern, everybody. I suggest that these doors are something that was added after the dynasty behind this place finally passed away. I think that the rites of the era required it to be so.”

  Seven hells and the treasures within them, the rogue mused, excited. That was a good answer. Maybe Carric didn’t know how to get in, but that was Bern’s job, and damnation if he wasn’t good at it.

  “Well,” Yenrab broke in, flexing his sodden limbs. All eyes turned on him. “I might as well see if I can budge them. I’m not exactly loose timber on the open river, ya know.”

  The eyes stayed on him, all of them silent as they tried to process what they had just heard. Yenrab tried again.

  “I’m not exactly a one-legged dancer?”

  Silence.

  “A seven-legged basilisk?”

  Nothing.

  He shrugged.

  “Your loss.”

  Yenrab scraped his feet into the dust of the floor, trying to get his boots as dry as possible. Then, giving himself one big, loud stretch that crackled and popped every tendon and sinew in his body, he moved up to the first slab. Planting his feet firmly, he laid his palms up against it.

  “Which way should I try to move this, boys?”
the barbarian asked without looking.

  To Yenrab, it seemed like everyone answered at the same time.

  “Up!” called Tracy.

  “Just push it!” yelled Carric.

  “Try to slide it to the side!” cried Bern.

  Yenrab shuddered and shivered as he tried to move it. The slab, though, was hard in place, and it didn’t budge an inch. He tried again, his superhuman muscles bulging and sweating as he shoved, scraped, and finally battered at the thing. Then he stopped, his broad shoulders heaving up and down as he panted. He leaned up against it.

  “Guys, nothing is happening,” he gasped.

  “Well, mates, I guess it’s time to start looking,” Bern stated, rubbing his hands together briskly as if warming them up for the task. “If those doors are worth sealing up, then, well, they’ve gotta be worth taking down.”

  Bern searched the room thoroughly for traps, triggers, or something that might open these doors and let the group see where they were. Then he focused intensely upon the ancient art and etchings that littered the walls. The others checked about the place as well as they could, more than once checking Bern to see if they were doing it right, but they slowly fell out as time progressed. The storm outside wailed, screamed, and threw a wild tantrum without sign of slowing.

  Yenrab was the first to lose interest. The half-orc yawned and stretched.

  “Well, guys, I’m gonna turn in. We’ve got a nice spot out of the weather, and I say that’s good enough for me. I’m just gonna crash over in this corner here.”

  “Plus,” he beamed, “indoors and away from the beasties, I can sleep in style.”

  Yenrab put his strong arms into his backpack and pulled out a large teddy bear out. He gave it a tremendous hug and a sloppy kiss and then patted its head and laid his bulk down against it.

  Tracy’s mouth dropped in shock.

  “Is that real bear fur?!” the sorcerer asked in amazed awe.

  “Yeah. I made it from the prey of my first hunt. Its fur reminds me of the power of persistence. Plus, you know, Mr. Fuzzybottom keeps me company when I’m feeling lonely.”

  The barbarian shrugged and hugged his bear again, letting out a satisfied sigh.

  Tracy looked with longing at the bear, and then moved to his own spot, slinging his sleepwear down upon the floor and giving it a tremendous hug then a sloppy kiss.

  “I’m out as well, Yenrab and Mr. Fuzzybottom. I should meditate upon my magic,” he said drowsily before passing out, uncovered, on the bare floor.

  Madness, Bern thought as he looked away from the scene. Absolute madness.

  Carric was the third to admit defeat. He dug into his pack to pull out his sleeping bag and other night-time luxuries. “Yeah, I’m gonna get some sleep, and maybe, if there is time later, I’ll tune up my instrument.”

  ***

  The air rumbled with the snores of a tired but well-comfortable Yenrab Atsittab. Tracy murmured and wove his hands and arms through the air as he muttered nonsense, all in his sleep. Carric was awake, but barely.

  “Mates. Mates!” Bern exclaimed. Carric rose up, jolted with that shock of fright inherent to the slumber-ready.

  “Huh. What?! Bern?” the bard spluttered, confused.

  Yenrab continued to snore. Tracy, meanwhile, had somehow woken silently and well alert, already walking to where the rogue stood, in an awake and refreshed manner. It was almost eerie.

  What kind of life does that to a man? Bern thought that, were Tracy ever the target of an assassin, the hunter might well find themselves the hunted.

  Carric adjusted to the situation a bit, sneezing as the chill air reminded his body to ward itself from infection.

  “Nagh. Ugh. Yeah, alright, something good right? Yenrab, wake up,” the bard commanded in a tired voice.

  Of course, there was no response.

  Bern had a wicked thought.

  “Carric, let me try.” He paused a little, then yelled in a loud voice, “To arms, mates! The enemy is upon us!”

  Yenrab leaped up to his feet in a battle-ready fury, Mr. Fuzzybottom wielded in one hand as a cudgel while, somehow, the other hand had found and wielded an axe. He snorted in fury.

  “Herbaderba Gabak!”

  “Coraellon above!” Tracy screamed wildly in a high-pitched voice.

  Yenrab snapped out of his enraged stupor and started laughing. Bern had already been chuckling, expecting the result, and he broke into the high ranks of joviality as well. Carric laughed too, but he also seemed nervous. Tracy simply stared.

  “Now that I have all of your attention,” the assassin announced, “I want to show you all something. Mates, take a look at this.”

  The assassin touched his hand upon the wall, sliding it slowly but smoothly over the protruding scenes and text. After he had caressed it for a few moments, he stopped.

  “There is a depression here. A button in the wall. And I,” he announced, with an emphasis on the pronoun, “am gonna push it.”

  Bern Sandros had an expectant look, challenging the others to protest.

  “Yeah. Why not,” Yenrab accepted, nonplussed. “Everyone, let’s gear up for battle just in case. But this is good.”

  “It is,” Carric affirmed. “It really is!”

  Bern was quite satisfied with himself. Upon pushing the button, there were a series of clicks, each sound longer than the previous, culminating into a series of unseen things whirring and grinding, with continued functionality even after all of these centuries of nonuse. The stone slabs, that had previously sealed the three doors, ground and trembled, loosing dust and powder from their surfaces. With a sudden absence of sound, the stones fell out of view, revealing the rest of the fort.

  “Machines!” Bern Sandros exclaimed. “Did I call it or what?”

  Carric snorted. The rogue simply beamed.

  Hells and heavens, is this going to be fun, Bern thought with excitement, rubbing his hands together in lascivious greed. He could already feel himself traipsing through rooms full to the brim with glittering coins and expensive jewelry. Then his thoughts went a bit dark. We can get to anything in the fort now. And anything in the fort can get to us, he realized with a small bit of dread.

  “Kek! Jiak kij uko happausan!” yelled Yenrab, rapt with attention and filled with energy as he realized that he was about to go on his first dungeon foray.

  “For sure,” replied the child of Coraellon, Tracy, pulling out a dagger from his belt and obviously not understanding a word of what the half-orc had just said.

  Bern looked at the doors and strode towards one at random. The others followed suit.

  “Would you look at that?!” Yenrab exclaimed, as they entered the narrow and dusty corridor, its air fetid with age. The scrollwork of the main room continued through here, but the stories it told had changed. The various scenes depicted the laying to rest of two goblin maidens, most probably beautiful to the right person. Each of them was stripped, and then, in front of bowing retainers, they stepped themselves into their respective sarcophagi.

  “Ugh,” Carric muttered. “They did it by choice?!”

  Yenrab nodded, thinking about the sacrifices the tribes of the sun committed every spring in the Northlands. How barbaric some cultures are, thought the barbarian.

  Bern simply moved ahead without response. None was necessary. Besides, he had a job to do. Moving lightly on tiptoed feet, twirling here and there to avoid possible traps, he scouted out the rest of the hallway.

  Well, Bern thought as moved and pirouetted, the torch head sparking in protest, with his torch out in front of him, this is a tomb. By the shape of it all, and what Carric said, this once was something else. But damned if I know what it had been.

  During the heydays of goblin dominance over the continent the passageway had probably held arrow slits, or perhaps had been an armory of some sort. But whatever purpose it had served gave up its ghost well before now. As a casualty to time, it was now occupied by dual sarcophagi. Each of them held meticulous carvings
, obsidian in color, that portrayed the shapely bodies of the courtesans that lay within.

  The assassin looked upon the large busts with great approval.

  “You know, these ladies were pretty tight!” he said back over his shoulder to the rest of them. “Hot, even, if you are into that sort of thing.”

  Carric snorted in surprise, the air whooshing out of his nose. Still, he could see what Bern Sandros was saying. Whether you were into that sort of thing or not, the art was worthy of appreciation. The heavy black onyx decorations glittered in the torch light, showing a place of once tremendous wealth. Often, it is good to be the king, or in this case, one of the lords working for him.

  The adventurers conferred. None of them had ever delved a dungeon before.

  “Why don’t we just, you know, run in and open them up?” Yenrab asked with a bit of naive bravado. “I mean, I’m big and tough, ya know, and not to brag, but I’m pretty agile, too. I think I can handle it.”

  “We have to worry about traps, mate. We don’t know what might be set in here, nor do we know how tough they might be. We can’t just waltz on in and hope for the best,” reminded Bern.

  “He’s right. It’s the way of the dungeon delver, as detailed in the bardic tapper tune ‘Search for Traps, uh uh uh, Search for Traps.’”

  “Not a very good name, that one,” Bern remarked with a sardonic grin.

  “Yeah. It’s not a very good tune either,” Carric replied with a chuckle and a smile.

  Tracy examined the room from the entryway in his regular, quizzical fashion.

  “Guys, I think that, if we just wait at the threshold, I can accomplish a great deal using the phantasmal force of my mage hand. I can manifest it to exert up to ten pounds of pressure. Surely, that will be enough to probe the place quite thoroughly?”

  “Mage hand? What’s that?” Yenrab questioned him, looking interested.

  “Using the sorcerous energy about us, I can create a third hand for myself. One of energy, not that strong, but good enough for poking and prodding,” Tracy explained. “It isn’t even all that hard. I sometimes do it when I sleep.”